Of Bob and Bill
by Gojirob
Summary: What happens when the paths of the happy-go-lucky and the hardcore briefly meet up? Colonel Hogan listens to his men, then reveals two game-changing pieces of information about an old friend.


Of Bob and Bill

By Rob Morris

STALAG 13, EARLY 1945

Two men noted for their warmth now looked cold. Colder than the weather outside the barracks. Colder than Hell, which is where they looked like they had returned from. Hogan nodded.

"Report."

Carter went first. He looked nothing like the jovial goofball that had left the camp, as always using the Neanderthal cave system Stalag 13 was built over.

"Colonel, it was a slaughterhouse. Like what Kinch reported from Dresden—only all close up in one place."

LeBeau continued.

"I never thought the sight of so many dead Krauts— _alars so very many_ could affect me! I will swear, Colonel, that this place must be one of the reasons they are so low on sturdy soldiers. They were around every corner, and in every crevice – place was loaded with secret passages, like something out of a cheap novel."

Carter breathed in and kept on, as LeBeau signaled he could no longer speak.

"A lot of the gold and art the Krauts made off with was stashed there – enough chalices to make your archaeologist pal nervous, sir. Big huge dogs, too – not like our pals here. Whoever went through that place took care of them too. I saw—I saw weapons there like no one on this planet ever even thought about—stuff that shouldn't exist. I was afraid to touch it. Before I set the timers, LeBeau and I gathered as much as we could of it into one big room. They won't be using that garbage anymore – or that old castle."

Hogan saw the haunted look had not left their faces.

"There's something else, right?"

LeBeau looked at Carter.

"Should we tell him?"

Carter looked surprised, and again a great deal more sober than normal.

"Well we have to, right?"

LeBeau looked close to tears.

"I would that no one would have to tell or hear of this abomination against our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ."

Now everyone in the barracks was shaken. It wasn't that any of them looked down on religion, but to hear so open a declaration meant LeBeau was really off his game.

"Colonel, Carter and I descended to the very bowels of that awful place. Everyone there was dead as well—many of these SS with heavy weapons and some of the nightmare weapons he described. But some of the people we saw there…"

Carter nodded and finished for him.

"Yeah, they weren't exactly people. Maybe they used to be. Picture pale ashen corpses with automatics mounted where their hearts and lungs SHOULD have been. Some of these had more than two arms. Down there, besides the timers, we found some fuel for heating, and split the tanks open. And I hope whoever made those poor saps end up that way burns in Hell."

It was almost a requirement that Carter say something stupid by that point, or at least a non sequitur. When that didn't come, Hogan realized it was time to relay some information of his own.

"What I'm about to tell you doesn't travel. Period. This isn't just me threatening to close the passage door on your faces, either. This is they will arrest you and say you died rushing Omaha Beach—with your bodies appropriately tenderized to match the cover story."

The silence that followed was brief but deep, and was broken by Newkirk.

"No need to sugar-coat it, Colonel. Give it to us straight. You're sayin they'll be all mean to us, right?"

Sgt. Baker was the newest member of the group, replacing Kinchloe when the latter's pitch-perfect German imitation was needed closer in to Berlin, a danger Kinch was willing to risk just to one day see the faces of Nazis unknowing of who they dealt with. As the new guy, Baker had been slightly less willing to speak up until now.

"Colonel, what could be all that bad? Also, don't we have a right to know? Two of our own just did a fun run through Dante's Inferno, and look the worse for it."

Hogan held up his arms in a calming gesture.

"No one's saying we don't have the right. But if what I'm about to say gets out, lots of people will lose their right to sleep soundly at night."

Since that seemed to get their attention, Hogan told it straight, or at least as close to it as he dared.

"I got trained for emergency medical care by a career Missouri mule named Sherm Potter. He caught wind of some of our shenanigans, and asked how we could joke around so much, given where we are and what's at stake. I told him we knew what we were up against. We get somebody sharper than Klink, more savvy than Burkhalter, or less career-conscious than Hochstetter, some things are likely to tumble into place. With that in mind, we keep it light where we can, because otherwise, our heads pop off from the pressure."

Hogan was still struggling for the words, something normally he had no trouble with at all.

"Six months back, without telling any of you, I gave fully half of our available operations supplies to an OSS of my acquaintance. He's the type who's hard to call a friend, but somehow we managed. I came from money and a good family, he came from dirt and a father he called just that. When he met my folks, he was amazed that a Dad could put his family in front of his own needs. When the time came for the final field tests prior to deployment, we were all jammed into what was supposed to be a make-believe killing field. Enemy already aware of your presence, no weapons except a knife, make a noise and you are gone."

As though drawn back by the Colonel's tale, LeBeau asked the nearly obvious.

"You said it was supposed to be make-believe. What was it?"

Hogan bit his lip, looking like the bitterest memory of all time was forming inside his head. This was an accurate assessment.

"The 'enemy' weren't our own making it hard on us. They were Kraut agents. The CO turned out to be a Bundist—hardcore too. All our buddies went in that maze did not make it out. Just me and Billy. I'd killed men before that day, just never that many that quickly and that nasty. But I had nothing on Billy. At the spot we were supposed to emerge at, the CO was waiting to gun us down. I snuck over and grabbed his feet, while Billy all but chopped him up."

Hogan sighed.

"Despite what that trash had done, I almost yelled at Billy to stop. The CO couldn't believe he failed, crying out, 'You're supposed to be dead!' Billy just looks at him and shouts, in a voice I think the Devil would back off from, I AM MADE DEATH INCARNATE!"

Carter, whatever his failings (and they all suspected he was at least a bit sharper than his usual manner indicated) figured out the rest.

"So your pal Billy was the one who left the mess we found?"

Hogan looked appreciatively at both LeBeau and Carter.

"After he was done, Billy let me know he needed recon and he needed improvised munitions to take that place to judgment. If the Krauts got anything out of there, we could still be fighting this time next year—and losing. Thank God none of that garbage made it to D-Day, or that would have gone a lot differently. See guys, just like we fight a war with weapons and tactics that aren't like the guys on the frontline, Billy fights things we can't imagine, and we're a lot better off not trying to. That—was my first announcement. The second one is – that operation was our last. We're clearing out, hitting the coast and meeting a sub for London. Project Bing Bang is successfully concluded. Congratulations to all of you."

Newkirk looked on the verge of grinning, then stopped.

"Begging the Colonel's pardon – but what about all those trains the Jerries had going to who knows where? Points East is all we know. We reported these—some of them looked like they were full of people—but Command never got back to us."

When Hogan learned much later on the nature of those trains and their destination, he would nearly resign his commission in moral outrage. But for then and there, his imperative was clear.

"This whole region is going to get dicey really soon, and that sub is not doing regular runs. We check the area for unexpected visitors. We're clear, we pack up a truck, grab Schultz – we did promise to take him with us – knock out Klink and high tail it."

Baker once again found his voice.

"Sir, we're taking Klink with us?"

At that moment, the things that Carter and LeBeau had seen in the destroyed facility began to leave all of them as their usual methods of coping resumed.

"We leave him here, he'll be shot the instant the Krauts figure things out. Even worse, if he's captured by the Allies, and he goes to trial – the others will get hung, while they'll just look at him and laugh."

Alerting the other barracks to get ready for their own run to the Allied lines, Hogan finally stopped outside Klink's offices and listened in. Fortunately, the facility that his men blew up had been drawing off the guards for months. Not so fortunate for those guards.

"So you are not upset by this news, Colonel?!"

Schultz saw Klink wave a dismissive hand.

"They took so many of our men, we're lucky my perfect record hasn't been marred. There are two eternal truths to this war, Schultz. No one has ever successfully escaped from Stalag 13, and nothing good has ever emerged from Castle Wolfenstein! Mark my words…"

A blow from behind knocked Klink out cold. By the time he woke, he would be sighting the English Coast. Schultz knew well why Hogan might do this.

"Colonel Hogan? It is time?"

Hogan began to bind Klink up.

"Yeah, Schultz. Look, I know you'll want to contact your family, but there's no time, and if you're here, you're dead. Klink too."

Schultz shook his head.

"They are already in territory controlled by your people, Colonel, and with them the best secrets of my family's toy-making business. All I want to do is one day get home and build myself back up—I'm nearly skin and bones!"

Hogan said nothing but mentally rolled his eyes as he rolled Klink up in a carpet.

"You know they're gonna wanta interrogate and debrief you? Even if we vouch for you, it may get rough."

Schultz pshawed him.

"Not a problem, Colonel. I will simply tell your Intelligence people the following—"

Schultz produced a large fully stuffed envelope stamped with a Death's Head, mark of the fallen master of the fallen castle.

"-my name is Hans Georg Schultz-and I knows LOTS of things. LOTS OF THINGS!"


End file.
